by Lara Temple
‘That’s not the point. The point is...’
‘You forced Father to let me stay in Keswick year-round?’
He hesitated.
‘I thought you wanted to? Was that wrong?’
She pressed her hand to her forehead and continued down the hallway, feeling rather dazed, all her anger against him fizzling. Present and past were all shifting and rearranging and her excuse of a headache looked likely to become a reality. With each passing day it was even stranger that her memory of Hunter’s presence at that pivotal moment four years ago should be so tenuous. Her future had changed during those two days in so many ways and this man had been instrumental in most of them and she hadn’t even known or thought twice about him except to occasionally cringe that she had disgraced herself so thoroughly in front of the handsome, troubled young man who had been so good with Petra.
He had been right about her. Again. As embarrassed and shaky as she was, it was a victory of sorts to stand up to someone so beautiful and experienced, and though she might have wanted a knight in shining armour or two to leap to her defence, she had done moderately well on her own. In fact, she had done quite well against someone with skills as finely honed as Lady Melkinson.
She stopped and turned to him.
‘I don’t know how to thank you, for everything.’
‘I didn’t say that to be thanked.’
His frown deepened, making her think of a proud little boy who had just been told how adorable he was and was finding the compliment vastly distasteful.
‘I know, but I’m grateful anyway. You can’t even begin to understand how much that changed everything for me. I was to come back to Tilney for good the following year and it would have been hell. Staying with Mrs Petheridge was one of the best things that ever happened to me.’
‘Don’t exaggerate my part in it. It involved no effort on my part, so all this gratitude is very cheaply bought. Besides, I think you underestimated your ability to deal with your aunt even if you had returned to Tilney.’
‘Perhaps you are right. It wasn’t just that one night, I was growing out of her power anyway, but it certainly was much more enjoyable staying in Keswick than waging battle, successful or not, at Tilney. But if you wish to cling to your selfish-rake façade and reject any token of gratitude, I shan’t insist.’
‘Don’t start deluding yourself it’s just a façade, sweetheart. Just to prove it I think I will accept a token of your gratitude after all. But not in the middle of the corridor.’
Before she could respond he pulled her along and opened a door by the servants’ stairwell.
‘The linen closet? Really?’ She laughed nervously as much with anticipation as the fear of being discovered again. Her mind might be plagued by uncertainty and upheaval, but her body had a simpler view on matters and it was already tingling and heating as his arms rose to lean against the shelves on either side of her, caging her in.
‘A very useful room, love. One should always know where they are located.’
‘Someone might...’
‘No servants will be engaged in changing the linen in the evening. Too busy with preparations for supper.’
‘Also useful information,’ she murmured, wondering why she wasn’t more outraged. But it had been a difficult day and right now she just wanted...something. Something wholly for herself and without thought of consequence. She should want Charles here with her, but it was hard to imagine Charles in a linen closet. It was hard to imagine anything at all with the heat of Hunter’s body seeping into her even though he hadn’t touched her yet. She wanted him to. To start with his amazingly beautiful lips, that carved line around the lower lip was magnificent, as beautiful as any statue. She had to admit he had a finer mouth than Charles, but maybe that was because she had already felt Hunter’s on hers and she knew to her core how wonderful it felt, so it wasn’t fair to compare.
Especially when it was already on hers. Oh, heaven...
It felt as beautiful as it looked, she decided as she closed her eyes. Its beauty was spreading through her like dye in water, a hue of its own, colouring her as it went, making her beautiful. Powerful.
Her palms were cool against his cheekbones as she slid her fingers slowly into his hair, gathering sensations as they went, so sensitive she could feel that little scar puckered against her palm. She slid her mouth from his, rising on tiptoe to trace with her lips the line her hands had marked, the lean plane of his cheek, the scrape of stubble along his jaw.
When she lingered on that whitish L his breath shuddered in and out. Her body echoed that shudder, moving towards his heat, moulding to his length as her mouth was moulding itself to the ridge of his jaw just beside his ear. She was back in that wonderful sleep-wake-buzz realm except that she wanted more.
Apparently so did Hunter because his passive acceptance of her exploration gave way. His arms left the shelf, one hand tangling in her hair and the other wrapping around her back, pulling her even more firmly against him. Pins clinked on the stone floor and she felt the weight of her hair slide and roll off her shoulders, then the tug and pull as his hands sank into it, tilting her head back. His eyes were gathering all the last glimmers of light from the high window above them and turning them to tawny flames.
‘Nell... I want to see you with just your hair between us...’
His voice rubbed against her like rough velvet and her legs pressed together involuntarily as if it had scraped against her just there. The thought of her hair, sliding pale and silky against the warm tan skin she had glimpsed in the stable yard, trailing down over his waist, his hips. The same hips which were now pressing against her, hard and bulging and rigid as a real statue. It was surely unthinkable to actually want to see his hips, to see his everything, to bare him as he was baring her, slipping the dress from her shoulder.
Her skin danced as his mouth moved down her neck, tasting, licking, lashing at her nerves and dragging little moans from her she couldn’t silence. She wanted closer; she wanted to tangle her body with his, merge it, lose it.
She wanted more.
‘Hunter, please...’ That wasn’t her voice; her voice could never sound like that. But it had a clear effect on Hunter. His body surged against her, pressing her back against the piles of linen, between her spread legs, his fingers biting into her thighs as his mouth opened on hers, moving from coaxing to consuming.
He was devouring her, burning her, absorbing even her breath. She didn’t need to breathe. She gave back everything until he groaned as well, pulling away a little, his hands denying his withdrawal by tightening around her, and then he gave way and was kissing her again with an abandon that she instinctively knew was out of character and she revelled in the gift of it.
He might not be a knight in shining armour, but her body felt revered as his lips seared and teased and feasted on hers until it started happening again, that rising of her body, a gathering into a powerful, throbbing unity telling her there was so much more and she needed it now. She was so hot it was becoming unbearable; she needed to do something. She dragged his body towards her and the moment the hard muscles of his thighs pressed against her the chaotic heat gathered into a fireball between her legs.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ she moaned, squirming against him, and his arms tightened around her, pressing his mouth to the soft skin of her neck, his voice shaky with laughter or something else.
‘Yes, you do. God help me, you do.’
She didn’t care if he was laughing because his mouth was suckling at the skin there and now the fireball had grown and she could feel it in the tingling, aching tips of her breasts. Was it mad to want his mouth there as well, doing just that, tasting, sucking? She must be mad because that was her hand taking his and pressing it there. Oh, heaven, that felt right...
‘This is madness. We can’t...’ he groaned even as his hand t
ightened on her breast, his thumb finding and brushing that ache into a cascade of fireworks along her nerves.
She was about to argue that they not only could but must, when their combined weight proved too much for the shelf behind her and with a creak it gave way and tilted. Luckily the snowy mountain of linen hit the ground before them, but Nell’s backside still struck the padded ground with enough force to wake her. They remained motionless for a moment, Hunter’s arm still around her, his other braced on a pile of pillowcases.
Her eyes met Hunter’s and she covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. Immediately the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled in response.
‘I told you a linen closet was a bad idea,’ he whispered, his head canted as they listened to see if someone had overheard the fracas.
She smiled guiltily and reluctantly pushed him away.
‘We need to put the linen back.’
‘We need to return you safely to your room. You look as tumbled as the sheets.’
She didn’t know if it was possible to flush further, but she certainly felt her temperature rise.
‘We can’t leave it like this. Apparently linen closets have distinct disadvantages. Has this ever happened to you before?’
His arms tightened on her as he drew her to her feet and for a moment his mouth settled lightly on the curve of her neck before he bent to pick up a pile of sheets that had somehow remained folded.
‘Since this is my first time to ever make use of a linen closet, I have to say it hasn’t.’
She swiftly picked up another pile.
‘I thought you said...’
‘Knowing where they are doesn’t mean I have made use of them before. Now I know why it is better to employ one’s own rooms. There, that looks almost respectable. Come, we should return you to yours before our luck runs out. You need to rest before the fête tomorrow.’
He was clearly in control of himself now, both the passionate lover and the vulnerable boy tucked away as neatly as the piles of linen had been before they had tumbled them. So she held back all manners of answers and thoughts and allowed him to lead her to her room and push her in gently but firmly, closing the door between them.
She stared at its blank surface. She had no idea what she would have done if he had chosen to stay. She hardly recognised herself any longer. How had she allowed this man, this...rake, to so undermine her plans and in a matter of mere days? He had just told her he was leaving; he had told her what he thought about passion being short-lived, and surely he lived his life like it was a game for him, one long wild hunt, without aim or object but his own pleasure. Even now he was, to all intents and purposes, betraying another woman, even if she was his mistress and not his wife. Somewhere in London was the beautiful and experienced Lady Felton, awaiting his return. At no point had he made pretensions of any deeper feelings towards her than lust. What she had always wanted from Charles was utterly different—she wanted companionship and trust. She wanted to feel safe. With Hunter she felt about as safe as a cork bobbing in a stormy sea and he made no pretension of offering anything more.
She slumped down on the bed. It was no excuse that this was all new to her or that Hunter was so very skilled. She had to remember that learning how to flirt and discovering her enjoyment of...of physical contact was all well and good, but it was not the object of her visit to Welbeck. The only problem, she thought as she turned wearily and went to ring for Betsy, was that having started down this path, she was no longer quite certain how to stop.
Chapter Eleven
Peony’s powerful body shook with the thumping of hooves as they approached the fence in the middle of the jumping course. It was high for a horse of Peony’s size, but Nell had her measure and breathed in, checking the mare’s headlong speed and feeling the mare’s muscles gather, and then they left the ground behind. Everything fell away—Hunter, Charles, the crowd watching the jumps, even her own treacherous body and confused mind. For those few precious seconds she knew exactly who she was.
She took the jar of the landing easily, laughing in pleasure as she guided the mare towards the exit. Hunter was standing there waiting for her and she let him help her down, forgetting her embarrassment and awareness.
‘I can see why this is your favourite day of the fair,’ Hunter said as they went to lean on the fence to watch the other jumpers. ‘You made all us mere mortals look half-asleep. Especially on that last jump.’
‘Nonsense. You took the black you were riding over with inches to spare.’
He turned to her with his half-mocking smile.
‘Placating me again, Nell? I remember that about you even four years ago. I felt like a four-year-old being measured for my first pony. It was a very humbling experience.’
She flushed, but couldn’t help laughing.
‘Oh, dear, I’m so sorry. It’s true I can be very condescending about the way other people are with horses. I do try not to be. My only excuse is that it is the only thing I am good at.’
‘Just a middling teacher, then?’ he asked politely.
She frowned.
‘I am an excellent teacher. Mrs Petheridge says she has never had girls actually asking for more Latin and history lessons before I started teaching.’
‘I see. And we’ve already established you are a precocious pupil. Therefore your excuse for being rude is hereby revoked.’
She considered him, trying not to smile.
‘That was sneakily done.’
‘I’m learning from an excellent teacher. I’ve yet to meet anyone who makes her insults sound so reasonable and her compliments so suspect.’
‘I’m only like that with you, because you don’t seem to mind.’
‘That comment is a case in point. If you had been a man you would undoubtedly have been a solicitor. In case you were wondering, that was a knowingly suspect compliment.’
‘It was still a compliment and I shall take it as such, thank you.’
‘You’re the only person I know who would think being likened to a solicitor is a compliment. They’re just one step above that hawker over there selling horse quackery in glass bottles.’
Nell looked over towards one of the fête stalls already set up, this one exhibiting a colourful array of horse tonics.
‘I used to spend all my pin money at the stalls in under an hour. I even bought a most horrid-smelling potion because that hawker promised it was a miracle cure for spavins.’
‘I take that back, then; no solicitor would be so gullible. I wouldn’t pour those on the grass, let alone down one of my horses’ throats,’ he said.
She laughed, about to respond in kind when she spotted Charles. He was standing with his father and Lord and Lady Melkinson by the enclosure, and with a strange sense of fatality she realised she didn’t want him to see her. She turned back to Hunter.
‘I think I would like to go back to the house and rest before the fête. Would you mind walking me back?’
* * *
Hunter nodded and took her arm, leading her through the stalls. He hadn’t missed the way she had turned away from the sight of Welbeck standing near Phyllida. Surely, however painful it was, she was finally realising the man was utterly wrong for her? She couldn’t possibly cling to her belief she cared for Welbeck while responding with such abandon to another man’s touch.
Her problem was that she had the body and soul of the most gifted of lovers. Or rather, it was his problem. Every time he thought he was in control of the situation she kept swinging him between desire and pique and confusion with a skill that would have done a court flirt proud. It didn’t help that her dark blue riding habit fit her lean figure like a glove, making his fingers itch to bare what lay beneath so he could finally satisfy his curiosity as to how she would look covered with nothing but the shimmering silk of her hair.
He opened his mouth to say something, anything to distract him from his thoughts, when a burly man came around a stall stacked high with apples and stopped in surprise.
‘My lord!’
It took Hunter a moment to place the weathered face, but the name came before he even remembered it.
‘Mr Pratchett!’
The man’s face creased into a smile that brought to life a multitude of wrinkles and craters.
‘What are you doing here all the way from Bristol, Mr Pratchett?’
‘My daughter married into these parts, my lord, and my wife and I are here to see our first grandson. Pardon the liberty, sir, but when I saw it was you I had to come and speak. About Jamie.’
Hunter tensed, waiting. It shouldn’t matter. He knew not everyone could be reached. It shouldn’t grab at him like this. It was already emptying him, preparing him not to feel.
‘He married early summer. A fine girl who never minded about his leg. There’s to be a child come spring. If it’s a boy they want to name him Timothy, if it’s no offence to you, sir. He said as it was those talks with you in his dark moments and looking at that picture as kept him afloat until he reached land, so to speak. I don’t mean to take liberties, but my wife and I know matters might have run a very different course but for Hope House and we’re right grateful.’
‘It’s no offence. Tim...Timothy would have been honoured. Tell Jamie that. My congratulations as well.’
‘I will, sir. Good day to you, miss.’
He nodded to them and disappeared between the stalls.
‘He was talking about the portrait of your brother in the memory room, wasn’t he?’ Nell asked.
He had almost forgotten she was standing there. He was so tense he was certain she saw the danger, but she just waited for his answer. It’s none of your business and it has nothing to do with us. He formed the words. Carefully, so they would be unequivocal, absolutely clear.
‘Who told you about the memory room?’
‘Your aunts showed me. That was how I knew he had passed away just before you came to Tilney four years ago.’